Working the Machine
by vivisect
Summary: It was obvious Noodle and her replica were different, but with the original missing, 2D and Murdoc would have to settle for a poor, yet convenient, imitation. Rated for language, adult situations, violence, and character death.
1. Oh Joys are Us

Whoa, okay. So totally my first ffnet fanfic.

The idea popped into my head Friday right after I woke up from an anesthetia induced sleep on my dentist's operating table.  
Removal of all four wisdom teeth. Bleagh.

I seriously woke up and had this epiphany about the Gorillaz. When I got home I somehow hammered out 15 pages, something that never happens when I write. EVER. WITH ANYTHING!

I am a huuuuge Noodle fan, but I love Noodroid, too. She is a total bamf. She's all crazy and trigger-happy. It's neato!

Don't own Gorillaz, obviously. If I did, I'd be waaaay too busy coercing Jamie into drawing hardcore Noodle porn to write fanfiction. (What, she's legal now!)

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Working the Machine

Chapter 1: _Oh Joys are Us_

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Two catatonically black eyes stared aimlessly at the ceiling of a leaking roof. The blue-haired man swore that if it ruptured again, he would rupture the little man that tinkered in the engine room. Literally, rupture. Something to do with his spleen. That would make a great big lovely mess.

Christ, where did that come from?

Probably too many zombie movies… but they never made him violent before. Uhhg, he knew exactly what was causing his change in personality. It was this stupid island. It was altering him. It was turning him into a bad person, just like Murdoc.

_'You are a very bad person, Murdoc-sama!'_

With a laugh, the singer remembered a memory about his favourite band member. Murdoc was being himself or something and whatever he said pissed the young girl off so much she had yelled that at him. It seemed like practically nothing compared to the garbage that was said between the three men daily. But coming from that girl, it was serious.

Noodle.

Where was she? Was she safe? Was she even alive? 2D couldn't remember where the official position on her whereabouts stood, partially from the painkillers, but mostly from Murdoc's lies. He was constantly changing his story, and just yesterday he mentioned to a reporter that Noodle may not have survived the El Manana crash.

Then what the bloody hell was all that shit about hell? There was just so much he couldn't remember. He had really drowned himself in painkillers after El Manana. 2D wished now that he had layed off a bit, but his headaches increased in frequency and pain after that traumatic event.

But if she was alive, why wasn't she here with them? The thought made him depressed.

Well… in a way, he supposed she was alive and with them. Murdoc's robot shared not only her likeliness, but her DNA as well. But that robot wasn't 2D's Noodle, it was Murdoc's Noodle. Corrupted, with a penchant for murder and mayhem just like her creator.

Though he supposed it wasn't like she was psycho or anything. She always treated him decently and routinely refused Murdoc's orders to hurt the singer. The robot did have some of his Noodle's memories, Murdoc had mentioned to some press official. That WOULD explain the fondness the robot seems to hold for him. Often she would ask to come in his room, and seem sad whenever he refused her. Just like his Noodle.

Lately, it had become easier to pretend she was his Noodle, the Noodle from his memories. By his request, she grew her bangs out (how exactly, he did not know) and he was able to forget about the calculating, humanless eyes behind them. They would watch movies together, play video games. Sometimes they would play instruments. Sometimes sing. Grudgingly, he admitted to himself that she sang better than the original. Murdoc probably stole some diva's voice and implanted her with it.

And sometimes they kissed.

He didn't know why, he had never even kissed the original. She had cornered him in his room one day and proceeded to assault his mouth. They were nothing like the kisses that he had imagined his Noodle would give: hesitant, lingering, and innocent. And unfortunately, he had imagined them. It was what this island did to him. Robot Noodle's kisses were rough, hungry, and lewd. Strange qualities for something made of routines and sub-processes. Her kisses were not unpleasant, just strange. They tasted of spicy gunpowder, salty saline, and cherry lipbalm..?

He vaguely wondered if she was acting on memories that his Noodle had of loving him, but he would never ask. He wasn't sure why he kept kissing this robotic girl, he wasn't in love with Noodle or anything, he just missed her terribly. The robot was his only companion on this island, as sad as it was. He refused to associate with Murdoc more than what was absolutely necessary. He didn't want to risk refusing her. He didn't think he could endure the loneliness if she chose to not hang around him anymore. Plus he had his own frustrations about being cooped up on an island with no women.

Back in Kong, it was easy to find a groupie or two to spend the night with. Despite whatever Murdoc said, 2D was definitely more popular with women than the satanist, and the fact that the singer rarely sought them out seemed to make him even more popular. He didn't fuck it then truck it like Murdoc did, he took the time to learn about the girls he took home, and he had a few regulars. They were more than happy to come back, and he was happy to have them just as long as they knew he wasn't looking for a girlfriend. He didn't need another Paula.

2D had wondered how Murdoc coped with his hyperactive libido on this island. The singer was a normal man with normal man-needs, and he found that having no sex was excruciating. In awe, he admired the willpower Murdoc must of had. Back during Phase 2, Russel had secretly told 2D that along with a successful band, the price of Murdoc's soul came with a few other "bonuses" as well: charisma, expert skills on the bass (he was talented before, but not a master like they called him now), heightened IQ, but also an unstable personality and an overactive sex-drive that needed to be satisfied lest he lose his mind.

2D saw the signs of course, Murdoc mumbled to himself, he twitched too much, he had a stutter that caused him to sound like a motorbike that wouldn't start, and his outbursts of rage were more frequent than ever, which was saying something. To make matters worse, he would stare at 2D as if contemplating something. Those looks gave 2D the willies.

He wondered why Murdoc didn't just pay some prostitutes to live on the island, but then remembered him saying something about never fucking the same woman twice. Fortunately, Murdoc realized he needed help and so he sent for a russian bride, and emerged from his room after a week completely normal. Well, normal for Murdoc at least. However, his bride left that night while he slept, taking the suitcase stuffed with banknotes Murdoc had brought with him to the island, and a copy of the first single for Plastic Beach, Stylo. She put it on the internet, and the next day Murdoc ordered a hit on her head. He had never seen him so angry. "_If anyone is going to leak my album, it'll be me_!" he insisted. The next day the whole album was on several official websites.

Unfortunately, that brought him back to square one. He seemed to realize other people couldn't be trusted, and so he took the closest thing to a girl on the island and gave her a few "improvements".

2D noticed something had changed with the robot when one day a few weeks ago they were kissing and she suddenly started to pant and leak from her mouth. He got off her and watched her grasp his sheets and writhe. He had a distant thought about doing more than just sucking face with the thing, but before he could act on it, she seemed to have gotten an order from Murdoc and left his room immediately.

After rubbing one out, he went up to the roof to have a smoke. It was his favourite place. Everything really just looked like a bunch of trash glued together with red play-dough, but up on the roof, the sea was truly beautiful. It's not something that could be replicated, unlike this island. After spacing out with a few smokes, he turned to go back to his room, and saw something he couldn't believe he hadn't noticed.

Murdoc's pimply green ass.

Not just that, but it was thrusting into some small, breathy thing.

Oh. He was having sex with Robot Noodle.

The Gorillaz frontman turned and went back down to his room. He took out his synth and thought about what he just saw while playing random melodies. She had been propped on the edge of the ledge, looking dangerously close to falling, completely naked and Murdoc was just… going at her. He supposed he should've felt angry, or embarrassed, or maybe even protective. But he really felt nothing. 2D was just using the robot for his own needs too, wasn't he? After all, it wasn't the real Noodle, so who cared? It was just a robot.

Just a robot.

Not his Noodle, but Murdoc's. Corrupted and twisted.

Waking from his thoughts, he decided that he would try her out later too.

God, when did he get so pathetic? He put his head down in his hands and hated himself.

* * *

O lawd, 2D is getting metal fever! Not that I blame him, Noodroid is sexy in a pyschopathic way. Yum.

Oh, that bit about the russian woman... Welllll I remember reading that something related to Plastic Beach had been leaked to the internet by a russian fan. Don't remember if it was Stylo or if the fan was female, but somehow they just appeared in this story. So if you're that fan (lolol as if) and you happen to read this story, sorry. I meant no harm.

Thanks for reading!


	2. My Little Dream

Oh my god, 6 reviews and 230 views on my first chapter! Thank you so much you guys! I don't even care that a whole shitload of people didn't review, just the fact that they read my story makes me happy. I had hits from countries I only had a vague concept of where they were, and some that I had never even heard of! Hello Qatari!

K so this chapter is longer than my last, and I also rewrote a few things in the first chapter. So you might want to reread that if something confused you the first time, because I went back and changed things based on conversations I had with reviewers.

Also, theres a sex scene in this one. And it's violent. So… if you don't like that, don't read it. (who doesn't like sex?!)

((Also! Add me on gorillaz dot com! My username is "Vivisection" yah, I'm that cool))

Don't own Gorillaz, obviously. If I did, I'd be waaaay too busy coercing Jamie into drawing hardcore Noodle porn to write fanfiction. (What, she's legal now!)

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Working the Machine

Chapter 2: _My Little Dream_

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Murdoc poured over the pages of his favourite new book. It just so happened to foretell the end of days, the end of the world, and the fall of humanity. Loads of people assumed those were basically the same thing, but no, they were all plenty different and he relished in the details, loving it all. Not to mention it also told him more about his upcoming album which would become the most successful album EVER.... and also somehow had a hand in those three aforementioned events. That was practically half the reason why he decided to make it.

Closing the large tome, Murdoc absent-mindedly turned towards the control panel in his secret lair behind the study's bookshelf. Everything was accounted for, and he loved being able to see everything from down here, even inside Kong studios. In case of trespassers, you know. Damn kids.

Actually...everything was NOT accounted for. Robot Noodle was not charging in her cupboard, nor was she patrolling the island. He attempted to connect to her visuals, only to be denied. Well, she responded to ping, so she was functioning somewhere. Then he checked her tracker and sighed when he saw she was in 2D's room _yet again_. Bloody pissed him off, it did. And she always insisted on turning off access to her visuals whenever she was him. That dullard better not be teaching her anything perverse... that was his own job.

Turning off her visuals was something he couldn't change in her, no matter what new routines and processes he implanted into her. Among other things. He supposed it was remnants of the Old Noodle's memories, and therefore stronger than anything he could do. Removing the memories didn't help either, because without them she ceased to function for some reason, as if they had been her _soul..._

A reporter had once asked him why he had decided to make a replica of Noodle. If he had the technology, why not just make a whole new person? The question had stumped the satanist. He could've easily taken just her guitar skills from Noodle's DNA. But making a duplicate had seemed… natural. In his world of rock and roll, drugs, alcohol, and sex, Noodle's presence had always been a constant. Since she had literally no ties to the world outside Gorillaz, she was always around. She depended on them, and he depended on her to depend on him.

Anyway, he was grateful to the little bot. Not only did she keep 2D occupied (he absolutely LOATHED conversing with the guy) but she had saved his ass more than once from assassins, demons, the mafia… you know, the kind of enemies one would expect a superstar celebrity with ties to the underworld to have. Not only that, but those stupid pirates where constantly trying to raid his island and kill him, but his little pet was always able to take them out in a few perfectly-aimed shots. With her advanced eyes, she could see where they kept their ammo, and after that it just took a few shots with a sniper rifle, (or a bazooka, or sometimes a grenade if they got close enough) to blow up the whole ship, which, he noted, brought her extreme pleasure.

Oh, she was a good lay, too.

Yup, he was shagging the robot modeled after his young band mate.

_Ooooh noooo, he's a PEEEEEEDOEFILE, lock 'im up!_

No. He would never have touched the real Noodle at that age. Not only was she not his type, all skin and bones, but frankly she just wasn't attractive enough for his standards. He NEEDED his women to have luuuuscious breasts and fullll curves with flawless faces. He admired the young girl's attempt to pretty herself up, skirts, ribbons, makeup, and all that, bless her heart. But even though she may have looked mildly appealing in one magazine or photoshoot, he couldn't see himself doing the nasty with the real thing. Ugly girls were only good for a quick shag. Pretty ones needed to be thoroughly inspected. Even HE wouldn't use Noodle like that.

But this robot. He had created her so she knew absolutely everything he liked. She fit like a dream, a bit tight bordering on uncomfortable, but within the first week he had sorted that out. She made it easy for him to close his eyes and picture a curvaceous redhead grinding on his stick. He had even installed the voices of pornstars into her vocal cords, so as to not be distracted by the annoying breathy girl-pants she tended to make. An excellent idea, as he currently found the throaty moans of Aspen Stevens to be quite agreeable. In this way, he could program different personalities into her and sidestep his little habit of never doing the same broad twice.

Really, he had turned her into his personal whore out of necessity. Along with the many gifts he had gotten from his trade with the devil, he also got a few setbacks. Not that he ever saw them as that until recently. Honestly, how is the ability to screw non-stop for _hours_ a bad thing? Though if he didn't get regular sex he did get a bit... loopy. The first few months of living on Plastic Beach he had been so desperate for something tight to stick it in, that he almost pushed down his singer. The thought made him gag.

After that, he tried a brief stint with a russian bird he ordered off the internet. She was satisfying, but the slut went and stole his case of cash and a copy of Stylo. She was then stupid enough to put it on the internet, and so he had her killed. The whole incident had completely negated the effects of a week worth of sex, and he felt more anxious than ever. So _really_, turning the thing into a sextoy was essential.

He remembered the day he had finished her new upgrade: he wanted to test it out right away, of course. But for some reason she resisted him even though he once again specified that those orders were not to be ignored. Exasperated, he let her go. Maybe she felt the need to powder her nose. Put on a pretty frock. That sort of thing. Women.

But he watched the tracking chip and saw that she went straight to 2D's room. Satan DAMN that dullard! 5 minutes later, she had still not emerged. Not even after 10. Or 20. Then he checked her remote statistics and noticed the lubrication supply he had put in her for specifically ONE purpose (well maybe 4 or 5 more if they got creative) had been activated and was slowly, but surely emptying itself.

Being at the absolute end of his rope as he was, with a screech of rage he swiftly slashed himself on the leg. He began to run up the hundreds of stairs that lead down to his secret lair, adrenaline speeding up his heart-rate and causing blood to gush from his wound. Despite his age and declining physical prowess, he made short work of the many stairs, propelled by the expectation that her microchips would respond to his fluctuating vitals, and the anticipation of sex shortly after.

It worked, and as he neared the top of the stairs he saw her waiting for him, her arms open and ready to assess his wounds. But instead of waiting for her to cauterize his lesion, he grabbed her gruffly by the hair, ignoring her shocked whimpers. He threw her against his study's desk, knocking down the squid and splintering the wood. She appeared stunned as she turned to face him, and it was when he brusquely fingered the zipper of her militia clothing that she really realized what he was about to do.

"W-wait", she stuttered stupidly, her hands on his in an attempt to keep herself clothed.

"No! I gave you fucking time and you ran off to that dullard. So just sit back and relax, love. Yer in for a treat", he sneered cruelly.

As he yanked down her garb to reveal her youthfully modest chest, he noticed a semblance of fear in those hard eyes, and that the android had started to tremble violently. Most likely caused by a conflict between her programming and Old Noodle's memories.

Whatever it was, it only made him harder.

She squeaked (literally, he made a note to oil her joints afterwards) when he spun her around and forced her against the desk, pressing his crotch into her still-clothed behind. He reveled in the shudder that rippled throughout her, causing her to break out into involuntary sobs. Cackling, he pulled off the rest of her clothes and tossed them to the side. With no warning, he whipped it out and tore into her.

Distantly, the bassist wondered if the Old Noodle would've reacted the same way had he forced himself upon her.

Relief was almost instant as he came inside, but the familiar frenzied sensation of intercourse took over and he lost himself in it.

Slap, slap, slap, slap, _slap_.

Then suddenly burning, burning, _burning._

He briefly came out of his sex-induced trance and looked down. Somehow, they had gotten on the roof and she was on her knees, in front of him, servicing him like the good girl she was. She held eye contact with him, her eyes no longer fearful but full of something he didn't think he liked seeing on Noodle's young face. Dried saline from her eyes made her hair stick to her face in odd spikes. Her glowing, red-hot tongue trailed lazily up the slash on his leg, searing his wound and molding the flesh together, the smell of charred flesh invading his nostrils in a way that he had become accustomed to. All the while, she applied skillful ministrations to his swollen appendage, combining pleasure and pain in a way he had never experienced before. The pain slowly ebbed away and he once again lost himself in the act.

He really did miss the real thing though. Noodle, that is. Even he had no idea what exactly had happened to her. Her windmill crashed during El Manana. That was all he knew for certain. Everything else may just as well have been a drunken delusion.

But Murdoc was so _sure_ that he had held her in his arms that night. She had come back to Kong, tattered and traumatized, and he welcomed her home. He had smelled her sweet scent.

Then the next moment she had been ripped from his arms and dragged to hell. Never before had drinking given him such a vivid memory. And so it was obvious to assume it had all been real. But there were no other witnesses, and the other two didn't believe him. The only evidence was the gaping hole in her room, which Russel had managed to blame on him somehow. But her scent… he had her scent on him. It was so frustrating.

Since Murdoc was reasonably acquainted with the Dark Lord, the clear thing to do was to ask the big red man himself if he had taken his youthful companion. But he had refused all of Murdoc's attempts to get a hold of him. Murdoc had even ventured down there several times and asked the locals if they had seen anything, only to turn up with nothing. After three years of searching, he was forced to consider that she had never been taken at all, and that she was still missing from the El Manana crash.

Yet the image of fiery shadows engulfing her, taking her away from him, her arm reaching for him, her face terrified…her scream. It was forever ingrained in his memory.

An alarming red strobe light awoke the bassist from his thoughts. Looking towards the various monitors, he spotted several large ships looming on the horizon.

Ah, bollocks. Those damn pirates were here again.

Murdoc left his secret lair in a rush, stopping by the door to grab an AK-47 and a case of ammo. In doing do, he failed to see a disruption at Kong Studios in the form of a small person wearing a white mask. A second later, all cameras connected to Kong went out.

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Please point out any errors you see, or anything that doesn't make sense. And please review!


	3. Little Memories: Marching On

I feel my desire wane, but I refuse to let this story die. The chapter I had planned for #3 has now turned into #7. This story has been completely revamped from what I conceptualized that day on the dentist's table. Who knows when the next chapter will come, but I want to get the whole thing out before Superfast Jellyfish is released. I don't want to have to change anything to match what may be revealed in that video.

Gorillaz does not belong to me.

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Working the Machine

Chapter 3: _Little Memories: Marching On_

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_I would like to talk to you. You wanted to know what it was like, correct? I believe I am ready to tell you. But things are still a bit raw, and so I hope you will forgive me if at any point I cannot continue. _(Just breathe.)

_Alright. I am ready._

_My lips were constantly chapped and my feet were always burning. The feeling was very unpleasant, yet bearable. That seemed to be the description for most things in that place. Most._

_It was not how I had personally imagined it at all, but somehow it fit the image in a depraved way. The occupants mostly paid me no heed, despite the fact I looked nothing like them. Of course, there was the odd man, after all the place was renowned for the degenerates that resided there, but if things got a bit dangerous I was generally able to take care of myself._

_The whole situation was really quite strange. The place is famous for its' chaos on the surface, but in reality, it presented itself with a bizarre civility. My very presence was breaking several rules, and so I ought to have been booted out without a fuss. But I was too valuable to just set free, and so they sought me out. They hunted me._

_Yes, it's true I had no clothing. They were long gone. I was in there for years, and they were just normal clothes! Of course they would be gone. And so, I was naked for a long time, in more ways than one. It used to be a thing of great fear for me, but after a while I was no longer bothered. It is a natural thing, a thing of beauty. No, do not look away. You wanted to know, did you not? I am a woman now._

_That day, as with most days, I spent my time avoiding his subordinates. It was easy for someone such as me, for I was faster and stronger than them. He dared not send his best, I don't think he was certain who would win. At the time, neither was I. Looking back on it now, I am relieved he did not send them. My luck would be much worse if he had. But I suppose if he had truly wanted me, he would have come himself. At that point, I was just a useful thing that had stumbled into his domain._

_My past life was but a glimmer of things too strange to think about. In that place, I could no longer relate myself with those memories. That was the beginning of the end, I think. Although my humanity made me a target, I am ashamed to say that I was almost grateful it was slipping away from me. It made it… much easier to exist in that place. However it also made it easier for them to affect me. But there was one thing that nagged me, a tiny annoying thought that persisted no matter how ghastly my psyche got._

(Where _was_ he?)

_I was alone. Alone. It was the first time I had truly felt that way. _(It would not be the last.)

_ They seemed to feed off my depression, and each of them that I disposed of seemed to come back bigger and stronger than before. But despite that, I controlled myself and forced myself to keep on moving. I badly wanted to give up. I was so tired. _(I still am.)

_How long or far I walked, I never found out. Long and arduous as my journey was, I managed to find solace in the fact that I was there in your place. If they had succeeded, you surely would have died down there. No… please… please do not cry. I do not blame you. I would do it again if it meant that you would survive. I forced myself to give up many things in that place, but I saved the memory that I was there for someone I loved. It kept me alive. _(You kept me alive.)

_What I did know was that my presence had attracted them. I felt their eyes on me constantly, but I opted to ignore it. I knew they were planning a move and whenever they decided to act, my body would move on it's own. Just like it always had. _

_It was hard to keep them out of my mind, and it was even enjoyable to let them in. Feeling strong, I granted them access to my memories, a move that I can't seem to regret even now. Yes, I know it was stupid. I do not need to you tell me that, logic itself tells me that. But logic and emotion rarely see eye to eye. I believe if I had not let the right one in, I would still be there and not here. _(With you.)

_I felt them prodding around, searching for something they could use. I experienced the anger they felt when they realized what I had done to myself. For one second, I allowed myself to be proud of what I could do now that I had given up so much. But that one second was all they needed. A crack in my armour was found and exploited, and they had come out with something to use. And then suddenly my demented pride flushed away, and they were in front of me in a swift move that visibly startled me._

_There were many more than I had expected. More than he had sent in the past, a small army. This time, I knew victory would not come so easy, if it even came at all. Their eyes openly raked over my naked form, and I remember that was the first time it gave me a strange pleasure. _(…Forgive me. It must be hard for you to hear that.) _I looked into the different faces of those that surrounded me and I knew the simple truth:_

_They wanted me._

_ They would have to kill me first._

…_I believe that was his plan all along._


End file.
